Tomorrow's Triumph
by The Fictionist
Summary: You always get those stories where Harry goes dark and he and Voldemort take over the Wizarding World. This one's a little different. Sequel to Fate's Favourite.
1. Chapter 1

Chapter One:   
_Summer, 1899, Godric's Hollow_

Gellert Grindelwald loved his life. It hadn't been the easiest at first, his genius remained constrained and oppressed by the tedium of those inferior to him, and for a long time he'd since abandoned all hope of finding someone to match him.

Then he met Albus.

Incredibly, something just seemed to click into place, like it never had with anyone else who remained incapable of matching his intellectual capacities. Albus was...different.

They were going to rule the world, together, he knew that - with many secretive nights tucked away in the corners of this dull, deadbeat village, they'd carved out plans for legacy and empire.

Albus had, of course, been initially reluctant due to the influence of his filthy, inferior father in his commonness, but he'd..._persuaded _the man. It wasn't difficult to catch the furtive glances his companion gave him, the kinship of fellow souls and minds, and the lingering touches filled with repressed hopes and longings.

Albus Dumbledore was irrevocably in love with him, and to be honest, he could only compliment the man on his excellent taste. If he was Albus, he'd be in love with himself too.

It was all too easy after that, pulling the other's heart strings like Albus was a dazzling and curious marionette devised just for him, using the boy's infatuation to his advantage. How could he not? He had to have him on side, because together they would be unstoppable.

He cared for Dumbledore, of course he did, and was fascinated and captivated by the spark and chemistry between them - and, perhaps, charmed by the other's devotion towards him. Who knew, maybe he liked Albus, and maybe he liked the idea of him and the idea of love itself, which seduced him more than anything else.

The point was: he loved his life.  
They were on the brink of everything; power, glory and immortality...if only Albus' _damn _brother would step aside considering they were supposed to be leaving any minute now...leaving this dreadfully dull village behind...

He hated the fool, more than anything.

Aberforth Dumbledore was everything Albus and himself were not - boring, stupid, and debased by his obsession with goats and other trivial earthly things. He had no ambition, but was petty enough to deny Albus his own due to his childish jealousies.

Somehow, things escalated, and the boy had the insolence to attempt to harm him - he wasn't even thinking, he just snapped, lost it - but the next second Aberforth was screaming and writhing deliciously under his cruciatus curse.

The second after that, Albus was there - _duelling him. Against _him. His eyes widened with shock as he was forced onto the defensive by the Dumbledore brothers...by one he'd considered an ally, still considered...this was all just some sort of misunderstanding.

Ariana, the pretty but damaged fourteen year old girl, had trailed along after her eldest sibling and was watching with a vague dismay and confusion.

"What are you doing!" he demanded incredulously. "_Albus?"  
_Something unfamiliar and alien was aching in his chest, cold and poisonous. Just yesterday, Albus had told him he loved him - a foolish but somewhat quaint declaration, but not entirely unappreciated.

"You don't get to attack my family," Albus stated, a terrible coldness to his features that only juxtaposed the soft hurt and raw betrayal shining in intelligent blue eyes.

"He's trying to hold you back - hold _us _back-" he growled, in response.

"You had him under a crucio!"

Spells and curses shot between them with a deadly grace, and even then he could admire the raw beauty of their power in times like this.

Then Ariana was stepping forward, panicked, trying to stop them - the next second she was on the floor.

Everything seemed to freeze, the whole world and their fight pausing on the brink of a knife edge. Neither of them knew who'd cast the final curse, and neither of them were brave enough to check.

Aberforth dropped next to his sister immediately, howling like some wild animal, a terrible noise, checking her pulse frantically, blood smeared over his hands.

Gellert opened his mouth to say something, but nothing would come out.

He took a step forward, but Albus held out an arm, as if to stop him, staring, unseeingly.

"She's dead," he whispered.

"Albus-"

"My sister is _dead_- I - I was supposed to look after her-"

"Albus-" he tried again.

"_She's dead! _This - this is your fault..."

"My-my fault?" Gellert hated the sudden tremor in his voice, thickened by indignation. Albus couldn't possibly know that, how could he? Of course, he needed someone to blame, but... "It was an accident, it could have been any of us!"

"I want you to leave."

"You said you loved me!"  
It slipped out before he could help it, and Albus' eyes snapped to him, still filled with that devastated vulnerability, now tainted by a sort of horror. The other swallowed, thickly.

"_Please. _I-I can't-"

"Albus, for love of the Hallows, I get that you're upset-" he attempted, hands raised placatingly. This wasn't supposed to happen.

"Leave." It came out a choked sob, and that something in his chest twisted painfully.

"This isn't my fault!"

"LEAVE!" Albus screamed, everything around him beginning to shake, and tremor with wild magic. Gellert stared at the other, almost blankly, before the most fearful of rages began to bury under his skin, a bitter contamination.

His heart pounded in his chest, his eyes narrowed.

"We need to leave _now,_" he said, desperately. "We talked about this, it's the only right time, our opportunity-"

"I can't," Albus whispered, wide eyed. "Not now. I-" He looked over at Arianna, her porcelain skin tainted a beautiful crimson. Aberforth, annoyingly, still howled and wailed. "My place is here."

"...you're picking them over me," he accused, disbelievingly. Albus opened his mouth, closed it, opened it, but no words seemed to be coming out to either protest or confirm the statement. His jaw clenched with tight restraint.

"Fine. _Fine. _Have it your way, I never loved you anyway!"

He strode away, not sure why he felt so...empty.  
Alone.

Always alone.

* * *

_Present Day, Platform Nine and ¾ onwards..._

It had been a long summer, and a somewhat unusual one seeing as he hadn't been with the Dursleys...who, as he now knew, had apparently moved in accordance to their bizarre and random trip to Hogwarts the previous school year.

More so, even if they had still been around, he wouldn't have willingly stayed with them seeing as the blood wards were pointless considering Voldemort was out of the way, in the past.

He'd ended up mostly with Sirius at a renovated Grimmauld Place, and then, weirdly, with the Malfoy's for some of the summer. Tom had spent the majority of his summer there, along with Abraxas of course, and then Zevi and Alphard too.

(Lestrange had been sent, without doppelganger, to the past because none of them wanted him around. Harry couldn't say he missed him.)

Sirius had - probably in a show of good faith and probably curiosity regarding Alphard - offered to let them stay at Grimmauld too, but they seemed to prefer the company and comforts of Malfoy Manor. He couldn't imagine them staying willingly at the old-Auror Headquarters anyway, not when the Weasley's visited so often.

Upon his own invitation to the Malfoy ancestral home, Harry had initially not particularly liked the idea of going there. Ron, too, had been most against the idea and he could tell Sirius had been reluctant as well; only agreeing because Narcissa wasn't 'so bad' and because Tom was so damn insistent.

Not that he hadn't met up with the Slytherins and Tom otherwise, of course he had - the summer had been a bit hectic actually with his and Tom's campaign in its opening stages. They'd mainly just planned the manifesto over the summer, before tentatively starting to consider a subtle form of recruitment and of course fielding a seemingly never ending hunger for interviews, and attended events to start being more prominent in the 'right' circles.

Salazar, he hated politics so much...how had he wound up running a political campaign again?

Tom and the rest of the Time Travellers had devoted numerous hours to catching up with the times too, and he'd been dragged on one torturous shopping trip for a brand new wardrobe because apparently Tom was getting sick of looking at him in 'rags.'

They also got their OWL results - Tom, to nobody's surprise, got straight O's in everything. Hermione had got O's in everything but Defence Against the Dark Arts, to Tom's somewhat vindictive glee and her dismay.

Harry himself had got:  
Astronomy - A  
Care of Magical Creatures - E  
Charms - O  
Defence Against the Dark Arts - O  
Divination - D  
Herbology - E  
History of Magic - P  
Transfiguration - O  
Potions - O (under Tom and Zevi's extensive and slave-labourish tutolege)

He'd been happy, Tom had been appalled that he hadn't got straight O's and E's, or even _passed _everything and given him hell for it.

Of course, the main hectic nature of the summer was that it had been dominated by Dumbledore's trial.

Oddly, he too had been surprised by that - but it seemed, after his suspicious conduct in attempting to attack him and Tom while they were unconscious during the Battle of Hogwarts (as it was called) he'd found himself under trial, and the whole summer had been taken up with investigations on the side of the Ministry into the affairs of Albus Dumbledore.

Harry wasn't entirely sure what he felt about that; Tom, naturally, was delighted with the situation.

He'd, finally, been charged as guilty for child abandonment, criminal contempt at court, disturbing the peace, attempted murder, - though it wasn't entirely clear to the public what his sentence would be. They actually had some difficulty charging him with anything that stuck, which was why the case had taken so long, much to Tom's and others infuriation.

It probably didn't help that Dumbledore still had a lot of influence, and had written most the laws and normally found loopholes around his actions.

Harry maintained that, aside from attempting to murder Tom and generally being a bit of a manipulative bastard for the sake of war, the old man hadn't actually done anything wrong in the lawful sense. He was morally ambiguous, but that didn't translate to a criminal offense.

The platform was filled with hustle and bustle and crowd as normal, alight with colours and gestures and goodbyes. He moved with Sirius, Remus - Tonks, who often visited Grimmauld and who he liked well enough, and the Weasley's.

They were running late. As always.

He had no doubt Tom and co. were already on the train, calmly waiting to leave, and hadn't had the slightest bit of rush and panic that morning.

"Stay out of trouble this year, alright?" Sirius half demanded, half pleaded.

"I'll do my best," Harry said, with a small grin - though the thought did make him nervous. It was sad, but he'd learnt to accept danger and unpleasantness in a year far more than normality and security.

They all bid their goodbyes, with a hug, and Mrs Weasley pressed a slightly subdued and teary kiss to his cheek too. It had been her first 'School run' without Arthur, which just exacerbated the normal situation.

Ron and Hermione split for the Prefect's Carriage, and he weaved his way through the train in search of the Slytherins. He realised, now, that he'd never actually rode on the Hogwarts Express with them before.

He ran into Luna, accepting a Quibbler from her and inviting her to join him and the Slytherins when she was done (he didn't care if they objected) before continuing.

Several frightened and excited looking first years were dotted around, distinctive in their lack of colours - and it seemed almost quiet without Fred and George. Though their joke shop was absolutely awesome...money well spent. He'd have to see if he could ever hire them to invent products of a more defensive nature...

Finally, he found Tom's compartment, and entered.  
There was an abandoned Wizard's Chess set that no one seemed to be playing on the table. They all looked up as the Compartment door slid open.

"Harry!" Alphard smirked at him immediately. "Tell Princess he should ask Chang out."

"Chang?" Harry repeated, his brow furrowing. "Cho Chang?"

"Yeah, her," Alphard winked, with a glance at Zevi, who was shaking his head, a long suffering look on his face.

"Er, yeah, sure, if he wants to," Harry said, a bit bemused, walking to sit next to Tom automatically - Abraxas shifted to the side to make space.

"I don't want to," Zevi said adamantly. "She's not my type. Besides, she fancies Harry."

"Yes, well, we all know who _your_type is," Tom murmured, a gleam in his eyes. Zevi's eyes averted, and Harry raised his brows.

"Clearly we all don't," he said, mildly. He looked around. "Actually, I think it's just you who knows, care to share?" he grinned.

"Tom," Zevi said, almost pleadingly. The gleam - and he couldn't decide if it was cruel, mocking, disdainful or amused - only brightened, but Tom said nothing.

"Well, that's a letdown," Alphard huffed. "Who is it Zev? I can't believe you haven't told me!"

"Oh no, I can see perfectly well why he hasn't told you," Abraxas murmured. "You're a gossip, Black."

"I am not!"

They continued bickering, and he turned to Tom, whose study had switched onto him, more musing now, almost.

"Who does Zevi like?" Harry asked, quietly, with some curiosity.

"I don't think it would be very fair if I betrayed his confidence and told you, figure it out for yourself," Tom challenged in response, with a slight smirk. Harry rolled his eyes, as he settled back.

For once, right now, there was no troubles and only a relative calm around them - nothing urgent to discuss or plans that needed making at that exact moment in time. So, they just...talked.

It actually felt somewhat foreign, though not unpleasant, to just talk...though, on Tom's side, it probably wasn't just talking as he always had some plan or another.

Luna joined them at one point, and several other people flitted in and out throughout the journey. It was pretty normal.

No Dementors. No Flying Cars. No landed 50 years Back in Time in a Potion.

Their Sixth Year at Hogwarts had begun.

* * *

_A/N: So, um, a FF sequel? *sheepish smile.* Dear god, somebody stop me! I don't know what I'm doing. _

_Sorry that this is a bit of a set-the-scene style opener, but, well, I needed to set the scene. I have some plans for this, but, again, nothing completely unflexible. I suppose we shall see. Wish me luck!_

_I hope you guys enjoy this one as much as Fate's Favourite and stick with me. I can't believe I'm undertaking this. Hee. Please tell me what you think, feedback would be much appreciated :)_

_PS: Thanks for your help Krysania! 3 (others, you really should read Fate Changed, now what? T'is brilliant!)_

**_PPS: Title open to negotiation and summary subject to change once I get a firmer grip on what I'm doing, obviously, I have ideas and plot arcs in my head, but yeah...no point giving them away because I don't have time to think up the perfect summary right now..._**


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two:

"I can't believe this," Tom hissed, eyeing the paper at breakfast the next day.

Horace Slughorn was the new potions teacher - and Harry dreaded their lesson already, and the inevitable formation of the 'Slug club.' McGonagall was the new Headmistress, and he was more than glad for that, but the head table seemed empty despite the familiar presence of Dumbledore beaming at them all.

He turned to face the Slytherin Heir, eyebrow raising in question.  
Tom pushed the paper in his direction, and he read automatically. Then his eyes shot up to young Dark Lord's furious ones, incredulous.

"They're sending Dumbledore to Numegard - isn't that - isn't that where he put Grindelwald?" Harry questioned, bewildered. "...and I thought you'd be happy he's being locked up?"

Tom shot him a withering look, and he met it unflinchingly, waiting for explanation. The other sighed.

"You believe they wouldn't form an alliance to get rid of us?"

Harry frowned.  
"Dumbledore defeated Grindelwald, they hate each other," he replied. He did not, however, dismiss or object to the possibility.

"...and you defeated Voldemort," Tom said quietly, eyebrows arched. Harry grimaced. Tom was getting at their own dynamic, and its...unlikeliness, if one truly considered their history and the conditions of their meeting.

"Doesn't count. Different matter, Voldemort did hate me, besides," he said pointedly. Tom's expression was alarmingly considering at that statement, and frighteningly unreadable. They stared at each other for a moment.

"Nonetheless," Tom continued, "Dumbledore and Grindelwald are both part of the old order...the straight divide between dark and light sides. What we are proposing is something new and different, a break from tradition, and thus to their very nature and existences as black and white lords...a very different type of revolution."

"And you think their response to this will be to unite against us?"

"No, I don't think so," Tom said, immediately. "I know they will."  
"Aren't you just the voice of doom today," Harry muttered, but he nevertheless read through the article carefully, with a slight frown, marginally troubled.

All across the Great Hall, whispers about Dumbledore were spreading like fire-crackers.  
He could sense the rest of the Slytherins watching the two of them, at attention, awaiting any plan of action, or anything like that.

"We'll wait and see how this develops," Tom stated. "Alphard, you can stop trying to research Zevi's love interests and set to learning what you can about whatever connections there may be between Dumbledore and Grindelwald. Report back within the week. Abraxas, look into Grindelwald's personal strategies and attacks. Harry - Dumbledore."

Harry's brows arched at the order. Tom gave him a look in response.  
"Don't tell me you're going to refuse just because I suggested it, that's just childish. You know perfectly well you would have done it eventually anyway, of your own accord."

That wasn't the point.

"Maybe if you ask nicely," he replied, after a moment, smirking. Tom seemed to be refraining from rolling his eyes, but turned to him, a vaguely mocking gleam on his otherwise sincere features.

"Sweetheart, will you pretty please do this for me because you are wonderful and amazing and I love you." Tom offered him a blinding smile, with a definite edge of taunt and mockery now that belied any of his faked-genuineness, cupping the side of his face.

Harry blinked, whilst the other Slytherins snickered.

"You're a bastard," he said flatly. "And you're not funny." He began to flick through the rest of the paper instead.

"It was kind of funny," Alphard muttered, with a grin.

"Either way, will you look up Dumbledore or not, Harry?" Tom questioned, briskly. "If not, Alphard will, though it would be easier if you did it due to your history."

Alphard's eyes darted to Tom, before he nodded, accepting the implicit order.

"Have fun, Alphard," Harry said simply. He would have happily helped out if Tom wasn't a git about it, but seeing as he was being more of an arrogant and presumptuous jerk than normal...

The Slytherins appeared somewhat less amused when they looked between the two of them this time. Tom's expression was even, composed and unreadable, but Harry could easily sense the tension bubbling like lava beneath the surface.

He continued to flick calmly through the newspaper, finding the Quidditch section as he spooned cereal into his mouth, not looking up.

He could feel Tom's eyes burning into him for a moment, before the gaze shifted and he continued to 'idly' converse with his followers.

He almost sighed. That was...what, breakfast of the first bloody day?  
Was it completely unfair to somehow blame Dumbledore for this?

* * *

Cornelius Fudge scowled at his team, his bowler hat squashed angrily upon his head.

"There must be something we can do," he exclaimed, frustrated, smacking a hand across his crowded table.

For a while, with the return of Voldemort after he himself had so publicly dismissed it, he thought he'd lose his job. It had been a near miss, too near, and he wasn't eager to face the prospect of being forced to resign any time soon.

He'd grown used to being Minister, and the automatic respect, privileges and comforts of the position. He wasn't willing to give that up.

And, he had the feeling based on Harry Potter's previous treatment under his ministry, that, if the whispers of what his group planned was true, he wouldn't be keeping it under their jurisdiction.

He needed some way of neutralising their possible threat, or securing their allegiance and powers to the good of the ministry. They, especially now, had too much power and influence to be left alone, even if they were sixth years.

The worst part was the problem he was currently facing, which would only exacerbate their might. He scowled at the will.

They'd held it as long as they could physically found possible, utilising all the loopholes available to them...now, however, under the law they no longer had an excuse, and Madame Bones had never been as susceptible to their automatic command of his position as some others.

Really, the whole thing was absurd, and incredibly suspicious.

Nonetheless, he had been tricky in his phrasing, with a solid knowledge of wizarding rights and the legal system. They had no choice but to implement the damn will.  
Someone would have to inform the boy of the new, delicate developments as soon as possible.

Could they use this?

* * *

Potions had been as awful as he'd expected. Well, the class was better than it was with Snape, but Slughorn had fawned far too much, and wasted half the lesson gushing about fifty years ago and -how-did-you-survive-a-second-time-Harry-my-boy? It was infuriating, and he despised the attention.

Hermione had also began to get a glowing reputation for her skills, or at least her theoretical knowledge. Not to the extent Slughorn salivated over Tom or Zevi, but she was ranking third after them which Harry considered pretty damn impressive considering Zevi was a potion's natural and Slughorn just adored Tom and believed butter wouldn't melt in his mouth.

Now, however, it was lunch, and Tom almost immediately for him to follow.

"It's the first lunch of the new term," Harry began to protest, only for Tom to simply reach back and drag him along instead, his jaw tight. He was shoved into an empty classroom and Tom folded his arms, glaring, leaning against the door.

"What is with your attitude today?" the Slytherin Heir demanded.

"My attitude hasn't actually changed from its normal state, you realise," Harry replied. "You're the one who's dragging me into unused classrooms before our first day's out."

Tom's eyes darkened.

"And your behaviour at breakfast?"

"Is no different to how I normally behave," Harry said, again, nonplussed. "I've never taken your orders, why is it suddenly a big deal to you again?"

"Because it was childish and we're supposed to present a united side - or do you, perhaps, think people would have any interest supporting a cause that is so clearly divided?" Tom questioned coldly.

"You started it by being a git," Harry replied, throwing his hands up into the air with frustration. "And for god's sake - Zevi, Abraxas and and Alphard already know us and our ways, it doesn't make a difference!"

"Yes, Zevi, Abraxas, Alphard and the rest of the people who watch our every move when we're in public," Tom returned, eyes flashing. "Or are you under the impression that undermining my orders and actions is a good thing?"

Right, of course. It would be that. He felt annoyance churning in his gut once more.

"_Our_ political campaign," he stated, flatly. "Doesn't that mean you shouldn't undermine my actions either? Which your actions earlier clearly did."

Tom stared at him, eyes narrowed.

"You realise you can't be in charge all the time?"

"Hark, who's talking," Harry drawled, pointedly. Tom took a step towards him, gaze heavy and appraising in its study.

"Ask nicely," he murmured, stopping right in front of him. Harry's brow furrowed.

"What?"

"Ask nicely...you were compromising. I didn't accept. That's why you're so irritated."

"Like I said, you were the one who started it by being a git," he replied. "I changed nothing in my behaviour."

"Neither did I," Tom replied quietly. Harry paused at that.

It was a kind of an awkward situation, because he knew they both thrived on power plays and the struggle for dominance between them...except now, that was being forced to change. He didn't like it. And he wasn't willing to play second - too many people already thought he was just hanging off Tom's coat-tails, or his pet or something, anyway.

And Tom...well, Tom wasn't going to give up control like that. It wasn't his nature to be second in anything in anyway, especially not in regards to his own Slytherins and followers. Harry wasn't stupid, he did understand that...but that didn't mean he could blindly accept becoming little more than a prized follower either.

He'd come too far for that, and he hated servitude too much.  
Before, it hadn't really been a problem, because Tom had learnt to not demand his subservience like that, and they'd always had a more privately focussed edge to what they did.

Now, however, everything had been pushed out into the open - and the two of them most of all. Everything was suddenly all too public and that made it extremely difficult.

The worst part was that, yesterday, everything had seemed fine. The sudden change and all too quick arising of issues was just typical of their lives, really, wasn't it? He got the somewhat hysterical urge to laugh.

Of course, they hadn't been without their arguments in the summer...but, in the summer, it had also largely been just them still. He tugged a hand through his hair.

They needed some way or working out their issues in public, because he was well aware that they couldn't - in the middle of some political crisis or impromptu press conferences or whatever - just hide and bicker everything out beforehand.

He could feel Tom's scrutiny still on him, considering, no doubt searching for the same solution.

"We'll work it out," the young Dark Lord said, finally, tersely. "We always do."  
But Harry also noticed that he walked out without another comment and didn't wait up.

* * *

Tom strode down the corridor, his mind still racing as he pondered the problem, and the necessity of removing Harry from his immediate proximity for the optimum thinking conditions regarding this new...dilemma.

Harry's emotions were overwhelming him through the link, making it difficult for him to objectively and reasonably come to a conclusion.

It was the Horcruxes, his Horcruxes, unbalancing him.

He wasn't irrational, exactly, their souls had created a complete circle due to the fact that they held each other's Horcruxes (not that Harry was aware of the location of his own soul being Tom, or the extent to which Tom had placed his own soul into him) but the link between them had strengthened.

Before, coming to terms with his own emotions as well as dealing with the quirks of Harry's was hard - honestly, golden boy was an emotional wreck! But now it seemed almost impossible to relegate and categorise in his head.

It was because, though he'd largely settled by now, he still had a tiny bit to go and some of Harry's own traits seemed to have been absorbed into him. Not the stupid martyrdom or anything, that conflicted too much with the fundamentals of his own character. He could never gain Harry's self-worth either - or lack thereof - he was too narcissistic.

But he had noticed he was...better with light magic. He still couldn't use it as well as his power suggested, and far favoured Dark Magic, but...he was actually able to cast a light spell now. It was fascinating, a whole different flavour and flood of feeling.

Was that what it was always like for Harry? Even more so, due to his truly grey aura? A perfect balance, two different palettes at his disposal and so infinite variety. He was almost jealous.

More significantly in the emotional department, everything had - impossibly -intensified in regards to Harry.

If he had been protective and possessive before, it was almost uncontrollable now. And if he'd hated Harry for making him care before, that too was exacerbated on both counts.

He was emotionally unstable when it came to Harry.  
With everyone else he was the same as he'd ever been, the strange closed-loop nature of their Horcruxes ensured that and countered the more dramatic effects of splitting his soul, but by contrast all the effects had zoned straight onto Harry.

He was a phenomenal actor really, with impeccable self-control, otherwise there would have been accidents already. Nonetheless, he'd had to take a break from the immediate conflict.

He liked that Harry challenged him, it annoyed him of course, but it was also thrilling.  
Now, however, it was a double edged sword. His control automatically slipped with Harry more now, and his natural reaction that that was to find some way of compensating that control in other ways...which didn't go down well with Harry.

Sometimes, having two people with control issues was so inconvenient.

Normally, the solution to the problem would be an obvious compromise in that he would ask instead of order, and they would just delegate responsibilities and control over different factions over their life for general living.

Except, right now, on a mental and purely psychological level he could not willingly give up any sort of control, indeed, it was more likely that his need for control would only increase.

Which meant the issue and the conflict it was causing would only increase. Which meant Harry would just throw more emotions at him unwittingly through the link and further exacerbate the problem on his side, and everything would escalate until they both just exploded...whatever the consequences of that might be.

Whilst he could sit Harry down and explain the true nature and complexity of the issue, he wasn't going to because that would only cause another problem because golden boy hated horcruxes. Of course, he could always simplify it down and edit the severity - Harry did tend to warily accept most of what he said to be the truth in such matters.

Nonetheless, he didn't particularly like admitting to weakness either, and he was certain he could get a handle on it on his own as the days went past.

For now, though he was sure they would inevitably work it out, simply because leaving wasn't an option he was willing to allow for either of them.

He just didn't know how yet.

* * *

Albus Dumbledore kept his posture ramrod straight and dignified, his insides twisted as he was escorted into his cell, next to Gellert's.

He wasn't sharing directly with his old...nemesis, thankfully, because even now he felt sick with nerves to see the other man after so long. He'd never visited, never wrote - but, also, never forgot.

He knew he would have to see him though, and resisted the urge to swallow at the thought.

He'd act calm though, like there was nothing there, and no old wounds and scars to be torn into raw and painful exposure, only worsened by the downward spiral his life had taken since the arrival of Tom Riddle.

Riddle...there was nothing good there, there couldn't be, and it galled him that as he faced his own demons, Harry was creating and solidifying what would be his own.

He managed to avoid Gellert for as long as he could, but, finally, he felt those eyes on him, and then...and then the most awful, familiar laughter.

"Well, well Albus...was this for the greater good too?"

* * *

_A/N: So...here we go again. Hope you liked it :) rest assured I am still working on all my other stories too, this one just happened to get written first. _

_Thank you for all the kind words and encouragement! The repsonse was phenomenal, I'm so touched. 3 And thank you for those who corrected me about Fred and George - I can't believe I forgot they'd graduated! Urgh...it's all the time travel stuff ;)_


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three:

It was late afternoon, early evening, when the letter came, and Tom had remained off all day.

Regarding Tom, it wasn't that he was behaving particularly uncharacteristically, but there was a dark edge to him that normally remained more well-hidden, less raw. He also didn't talk, and, largely, didn't interact with them, growing remote, distanced.

It wasn't that this was entirely unusual for Tom, when it came to thinking, but normally he pushed everyone else away from his space rather than withdrawing himself.

He suspected it had something to do with their argument at breakfast, but for the life of him he couldn't figure out why it was bothering the other this much.

Of course, Tom had always been somewhat...moody, but recently he seemed to be reaching new levels of 'bipolar.' It was more than a little unsettling.

It made him wonder, again, uneasily, about Tom's Horcrux. How big a chunk had the Slytherin Heir ripped off if his personality was still so in flux?

He couldn't say he approved of the method - indeed, he certainly didn't - but, well, it had kind of been a best case scenario otherwise, hadn't it? He'd get Tom to find himself a new means of immortality, and then just reverse the process or something.

He was sure he could survive it.

"What's the letter about?" Tom demanded, eyes sharp, obviously recognising the ministry seal.  
Harry read through it again, his brow furrowed.

_Mr Potter,_  
_There is a delicate matter that we urgently need to discuss with you, please come to the Ministry tonight, or at your earliest convenience. Either that, or we can come and find you._

_We cannot stress again the importance of this, and apologise for the lack of detail in this letter, it is a sensitive topic. It is, however, to do with your inheritance from a legal and ministerial perspective._

_Awaiting your owl, and thank you for your time,_  
_Melia Ayman, Office of Magical Law Enforcement_

"My...inheritance?" Harry said, not entirely sure himself. Tom sighed, reaching out for the letter and simply taking it, eyes scanning through it quickly.

"Will. It's to do with a Will, and most likely complications regarding one. Or items the Ministry don't want you to possess," Tom explained, or theorised, after a moment, before handing it back to him. Harry blinked, opening his mouth to speak, but Tom was continuing.

"It mentioned inheritance, so it's obviously a will, Harry...a recent one, or it would have been dealt before now. Probably from a month ago," Tom's voice and expression had turned thoughtful.

Their eyes met. Harry considered for a minute or so, his thoughts racing. Recent death. Complications. He frowned, eyeing the other.

"You don't seriously think this is Voldemort's will, do you?"

That was the only person Harry knew who'd died in the last months, whose Will might possess such 'delicate' Ministerial complications. It was just...utterly absurd.

"Yes, I do actually," Tom replied flatly.  
Harry stared, before laughing.

"And what would Voldemort bequeath me?" he demanded incredulously. "Poison? Why would you even think he would leave me anything?"

"Because it's what I'd do."

Harry swallowed.

* * *

That evening, Harry found himself at the Ministry.

It felt decidedly odd, as the place was largely empty as the day had wound down - only a few, extremely dedicated, ambitious or over-worked employees remained scattered around the large building. He couldn't help but feel suspicious.

Nonetheless, his curiosity dragged him forwards.  
This shouldn't take too long, should it?

To his surprise, Tom hadn't insisted on coming, as he would normally, saying he had better thing to be doing and that Harry would fill him in when he got back. It only made Harry more worried about what the hell was going on with the Slytherin Heir.

It actually kind of felt like Tom was avoiding him, and though it hadn't even been twenty four hours yet, it was already starting to piss Harry off. Really, Tom had no right to be this edgy just because Harry didn't roll over like a good little follower - he'd never done that anyway.

For a minute or so, he entertained the thought of Tom's reaction should he actually start behaving like a good little follower...hadn't he once asked Harry to never call him "lord"? But he didn't want to test it in case Tom did actually prefer him like that. All submissive.

He arrived at the office he was told to go to, only to grow even more suspicious and wary at the presence of Fudge, too. His wand was a familiar weight.

"You said this was important," he stated, without greeting, only going to a mild effort to hide his distaste for the minister under an icy sort of formality.

"Ah, yes," a blonde woman, who Harry presumed was Melia Ayman, murmured, clearing her throat. She was rather small and slender, with plump cheeks that seemed at odds with the rest of her rather bony, severe form. "It's...well...the Ministry have recently come to have possession of the will of Lord V-Vol-He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named."

"...and what's that got to do with me?" he prompted, eyebrows raised. "I presume there's some legal problem? Or something?"

Anything to do with Voldemort, or the memory of his regime and Death Eaters, people seemed to have got into the habit of approaching him for. As their 'saviour.' Really, Tom had done equally as much to defeat the snake-like figure, but he supposed they were favouring him because of the whole Boy-Who-Lived thing. He was what they expected, and knew. Tom was a far more mysterious figure, though more fascinating to the media because of it.

"He, um," Ayman glanced at Fudge. "Well, he left you...everything."

It took Harry a few seconds to even process enough to reply.

"Excuse me?" he repeated, his voice barely above a whisper.

"The-The Dark Lord, You-know-who, he left you everything he had...as his, er, legal heir," Ayman murmured. Harry blinked.

"What do you mean...everything?" he demanded. "Have you got a copy of the will? Show me!" he ordered.

Flustered, Ayman started showing him documents, only for Fudge to interrupt her with a slight tisk.

"Unfortunately, due to the nature of your, ah, benefactor, there are some problems with our allowing you to accept this."

Harry studied the man for a moment.

"Is there any legal reason I can't? Or is this just a Ministry problem due to what is probably a considerable fortune and collection of magical artefacts?" Harry asked.

He still couldn't believe Voldemort had left him anything, let alone everything.  
And named him his Heir. Bloody hell, was this just some final game? He didn't understand.

Surely it would have made far more sense for the Dark Lord to leave everything to Tom, rather?

Fudge opened his mouth, but Ayman spoke first, shyly.

"No, there's no legal reason you can't accept what he gives you. He was thorough with his wording, and his loopholes...it's not even whether you accept or not, Mr Potter, you don't have a choice. It's already yours."

"What if I don't want it?" Harry asked.

Fudge pasted a warm smile on his face.

"Then that would be perfectly understandable, Harry," he said, resting a hand on his arm. "I understand that this must be incredibly difficult for you, he murdered your parents after all-"

"Remove your hand."  
Fudge's hand shot back as if he'd been scalded, and Harry reached for the documents, scanning through them carefully.

The Riddle House - A Gringotts Vault, and he didn't even know what was in there - and...Harry stopped. He glanced up at Ayman.

"I believe you are a Parselmouth, Mr Potter," she said quietly.

Harry looked at Fudge, his eyes starting to gleam with a twisted sort of amusement.  
Trust Voldemort - or even Tom, but he didn't want to think like that - to make jabs at the ministry even in 'death.'

"You can't read it," he stated. "You don't have a clue what he left me, only that it's legally binding, and you can't stop it."

"We would be most obliged if you could translate for us," Fudge said stiffly.

Harry had to resist the strong urge to smirk, though it might have crept up on him, despite his severe unease.

"I'm failing to see how this is a Ministerial problem, if everything is legally functioning and there are no laws broken," he stated.

Even if it was Voldemort, even if he wanted nothing the man gave him...it was the same instinct against outside intrusion which was rearing his head. Even when Voldemort had been around, it was rare for them to actively involve us. In the end, in the final showdown in the Graveyard too, it had been a straight duel between the two of them despite how Voldemort could have easily killed him if he utilized the powers and greater numbers of his Death Eaters.

He turned to leave, taking the documents with him to peruse.

"Potter," Fudge bit out, sharply. "You do realise the possible ramifications of this? Should it become public? Your reputation could be tarred."

Harry paused, looking back.

"I'm not a girl, and this isn't the 1940s, Minister...I have more to rely on then just my good reputation," he said. "...do you?"

Fudge's eyes turned cold.  
Harry left, dismissively, more intent on the papers in his hands than a bumbling, incompetent Minister who clung for power.

* * *

Harry didn't go straight to the Slytherin Common Room, brow furrowed, confusion starting to tear at his mind. Instead, he found himself in his and Tom's compromise of a Come and Go room.

He lay down on his stomach in front of the fire, the various documents spread in front of him as he surveyed them. He was no expert on legal jargon, but he wasn't sure if this was exactly the type of inheritance he could get a lawyer on...Tom maybe, he worked in pretty much the same way, though the thought made Harry chuckle.

Tom...what would Tom think of all this?

As if hearing his thoughts, the Slytherin Heir in question entered, eyeing the room for a second, and no doubt judging the state of his mind by it.

Harry resisted the ridiculous urge to say 'I thought you were avoiding me.'  
His eyes flicked to the side as, instead of taking his normal position on the sofa, Tom came and sat next to him, leaning over the documents himself, not saying anything.

"You don't look surprised," Harry noted.

"Why would I be surprised?" Tom replied, eyebrows arching, before his head tilted. "...He gave you control of the Dark Mark and the Death Eaters..."

Now, finally, as he'd expected, there was an edge to Tom's tone.

"God knows why," he replied. Tom glanced at him.

"You don't know why he left you everything?"  
Harry scowled, sensing a test.

"Obviously not."

"Think," Tom instructed. "You know me. He's not that different."

Harry's scowl deepened at that, warning. Tom ignored it, merely meeting his gaze challengingly.

"I don't know," he muttered, infuriated. "He thought you were destined to become him, and, in that case...there would be no point in him leaving it to you. The Prophecy said that neither can live whilst the other survived...if I died, he didn't need his will to be enacted, if he died...he was certain I would survive."

"It would never have been anyone else," Tom said, quietly. "You're Harrison Evans. It says here that he left you a Gringotts Vault, as well as the Riddle House and official control of the Death Eaters..." again, the young Dark Lord's tone gained a dangerous undertone at those words, "when are we going to go and see what's in there?"

Harry smirked.  
"What do you mean 'we'?" he teased. "It's not yours."

He was startled when Tom promptly smacked him upside down the head, and not in a particularly joking or light-hearted manner either. It was fully intended to hurt.

His eyes narrowed warily. Something was definitely up. Whilst Tom did lash out, there was an icy fire in his eyes right now that jarred with the situation, or at least the situation as far as Harry was aware of it.

"...I was joking," he said, flatly. Tom said nothing, flexing his fingers for a moment, posture still. Too still. "Tom-" Harry started.

The other was standing again, swiftly, some of the documents still in his hand, stepping away, stance very restrained and contained now. Harry nearly growled, lunging forwards, grabbing Tom by the arms, tightly.

"What the hell is going on with you today?" he demanded, shaking Tom roughly. Control issues? If he had control over the Death Eaters...what did Tom have? Tom was the Dark Lord, by all rights everything Dark was his property. Was that it?

"**Let go of me**," Tom hissed.

"Is it the Horcrux?" Harry persisted. The next second, Tom's magic had tightened around his throat, squeezing, choking,and the Slytherin Heir used it to his advantage, tugging his hands off, nearly breaking his fingers with the movement.

"I said," he repeated, too softly. "Let go of me."  
Harry stared, utterly bewildered, his jaw clenched.

"You know, most of the time when we have a problem, we damn well bargain," he reminded, tersely. "You're acting...odd."

But Tom's features were calm now, again, though his eyes raked across Harry's form. Harry returned the scrutiny, carefully.

"We'll go to Gringotts on the weekend to see the vault on the weekend," Tom declared.  
Once again, he was sweeping out.

Harry really didn't like it.

* * *

"So, Albus...long time no see," Grindelwald murmured, gaze fixed on him, the most awful smile twisting his emaciated features.

"Stop this," Dumbledore ordered curtly, keeping his own attention firmly away from the other man.

"Fifty years, isn't it?" Gellert continued, as if he hadn't heard. "No visits, no contact...not even a greeting card for my birthday. I'm hurt, Albus. I thought we had a special something."

"I said stop it," he said, coldly. "I want nothing to do with you."

"Yes, you made that clear," Grindewald replied, with a hint of venom now. The Dark Lord leant across the table, closer to him. "I bet the guilt just eats you up whole..."

Albus said nothing, and Gellert didn't seem to need him to either, speaking conversationally.

"I kept an eye on your pursuits over the years, love...champion of the Muggles, Albus? Really? You were trying so hard to forget that it's almost adorable, if it wasn't so pathetic, I mean."

"I don't know what you're trying to achieve-" Dumbledore began again, eyes flashing furiously.

"-Did I break your heart, Albus?"

The dinner plates shattered, and Gellert rocked back and forth, laughing, a grin splitting his face - that same, boyish grin which never seemed to change, despite the hard brittle bitterness of the years

"You know you did," Dumbledore snapped, his face worn.  
The smile vanished. Grindelwald stared at him, before leaning even closer.

"Good," he hissed. "Because you broke mine first!"

Dumbledore thought he might have preferred Azkaban.

* * *

_A/N: I kind of feel like I've lost my knack for Fanfic writing...hopefully I'll regain it as I get into a steady rythym again...sorry. The ideas are there, but the writing feels...off._

_I think it's because I'm immersed in novel writing world - which, yay, my novel is almost done! :D Should be published by the end of summer, if all goes to plan, if any of you lovely people are interested :) If you like Tom, I think you'd really like my main villain._

_But, anyway - thank you for the reviews! I hope this isn't too disappointing, much love! Feedback is, and always will be, greatly appreciated :) I don't reply to all of them, but I always read them like five times, haha._

_**PS: Regarding the novel, if you're interested, you can read the first 6 chapters on my writers-network profile (link on my profile.) I would, of course, love it if you bought it when I published it too ;)** _


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter Four:

Harry and Tom stood outside of Gringotts, the latter showing about as many emotions as a stone would. Harry himself couldn't help but feel apprehensive, his hands buried deep into the pockets of his robes.

They'd been accosted on the streets so many times that it had taken double the normal amount of time to get to the bank in the first place, hounded by people who just wanted to chat, get autographs and photos.

It was exhausting, yet Tom, as always, seemed unaffected. But then, Tom had this purposeful walk that had people moving to the side and deferring to whatever the Slytherin Heir wanted, while Harry was the one more likely to get hassled. It was infuriating. And embarrassing. Harry was starting to realise just how much he hated being in the limelight, he never knew what to say! They were finally at Gringotts though, but Harry still didn't feel any better about the whole scenario.

"You do realise the only reason I'm not handing everything to you is because I don't trust you to make good use of it?" Harry questioned, quietly, as they entered, heading towards an unoccupied goblin.

Tom glanced at him, curtly.

"That shouldn't be your priority or decision to make," the other returned, perhaps more honest on the topic than he had been all week. "Everything in that vault belongs to me."

"What, because you're Voldemort?" Harry's voice was flat, suddenly frosty, but Tom seemed to ignore that easily enough, returning his gaze stonily.

"Yes, actually."

Harry's eyes narrowed.  
"No."

"Yes," Tom returned, firmly. "Maybe not that version, but I'm not the tamed, domestic alternative either, Potter. I may not have done everything he has, but he is still an intrinsic part of me and so everything that is his is mine."

The 'Potter' signified how annoyed with this whole affair the other really was, as did the curt tone.

"Yes," he replied, rolling his eyes, "I'm fully aware you're not a nice person or any such crap. Bloody hell, I'm not stupid, and I happen to know you and have spent more than enough time in your company to know that you're not tamed and you certainly aren't domestic - the idea's laughable! Doesn't make you him. Clearly, we work on different definitions of 'Voldemort.'"

The conversation paused as they spoke to a Goblin, and headed across the polished marble floors towards the carts. Harry had always loved them, they were like a rollercoaster, but Tom's shoulders tensed a tiny bit. It was barely noticeable, but it was there.

"Don't like the carts?" he questioned innocently. Tom shot him a dark look.

"They're death traps on wheels...which of course would mean you like them. And, clearly, we do have different definitions," Tom replied, tersely. "I would make excellent use of anything in that vault, if you know me so well you claim you should know I always use all the resources available to me...unlike you," Tom shot him a pointed look. "You don't want any of this, you're most likely going to waste the numerous opportunities and artefacts you've been gifted with and leave them to grow dusty, unused."  
Harry rolled his eyes.

"And there was me thinking you'd be happy that I didn't use your 'inheritance' against you, or your Death Eaters."

"The Death Eaters would listen to me over you anyway," Tom said coldly, fingers bleached white against the edges of the cart. Harry softened slightly.

"You do know Voldemort was probably fully aware of how much this would...bother you, don't you?" he questioned.

"Of course I'm aware of it," Tom replied. "Doesn't stop it, ah, 'bothering me' as you would put it..."  
Harry's fists clenched at the withering tone.

"Then kindly stop taking this out on me," he bit out. "It's not my fault you're a bastard."

Tom's gaze snapped to him, studying him for a moment, as if seeing him again for the first time as an actual person. Harry raised his brows, and Tom shook his head, laughing after a few seconds. It wasn't the rare, free laugh of genuine amusement, it was bitterer and crueler than that, but it no longer held the previous edge either.

"As always, darling, my parent's were married," Tom murmured, before immediately getting out the cart when it stopped, with a smirk.

It was enough to marginally take some of the unnecessary tension out of Harry's shoulders, though there was still enough weight to be a burden.

The Goblin was favouring them both with a considering expression, albeit not a particularly friendly or pleasant one as it trotted forwards to open the vault door.

For a moment, Harry was frozen, only switching to action when Tom grabbed his arm and practically shoved him into the vault to have a look. It was rather empty, all things considered.

Of course, there were huge piles of galleons, and bits and pieces from aliases over the years to fund Lord Voldemort's rise to power, but there wasn't an extortionate amount. There were lots of books too, a skeleton in the corner which Harry did his best to ignore, and what looked like numerous presents from over the years.

Yet, it was the piece of paper and the notebook that immediately zapped towards him, as if summoned, which held his attention.

He eyed it warily, not putting it above Voldemort to have cursed everything in this room, and looked around for Tom only to find the Slytherin Heir had wandered away down the piles of stuff, a cautiously curious and fascinated glint to his eyes.

Harry looked back to the letter, snatching it out of the air.  
He'd see what it said before he showed it to Tom...

All the colour drained from his face.

* * *

_Harry, I believe a "congratulations" would stereotypically be in order here, as the great hero of the light has triumphed once more against evil... However, I care little for stereotypes, and find even less to celebrate in this supposed victory._  
_But I suppose you must be feeling rather proud of yourself, hero? Here you are, with all the glittering prizes and no doubt everything you could have wanted._

_What a great triumph for you._

_Aside from all the people you condemned to suffer, of course... You didn't think of that, did you, Harry?_

_I once told you it wasn't your fault that your parents died, back when I was young and naive. I lied. It was your fault, all of it was. You ensured they had to die so you could live, so that the timeline wouldn't explode._

_It was your fault._

_Every death which has occurred is on your hands, as is their blood, because you thought you could play with fate and time without consequences._

_Your parents...and so many more. Do you even realise how many people died during the course of the last fifty years because of your actions? More than I can count. Millions._

_You are responsible for so much suffering Evans; theirs, and mine too._  
_Did you think I wouldn't notice that something was wrong?_

_I'm not stupid, I can tell when I'm missing something, especially a year of memories. But it matters not, the past is the past, and I have no effect on the future anymore in this Time Loop._

_It's ironic that you push onto me all the things you so feared to deal with - the loss of power and control over a perceived destiny, but, I'm sure you've noticed by now that Fate is a very difficult thing to outrun._

_The Prophecy still stands, you realise? With Tom? He's going to realise that too, because he's me, and though a person may_

_change externally, internally, we are identical in our core aspects. You still have the power to destroy him, powers we know not, and with the way you both push and insist on changing each other, neither of you can live while the other survives. Eventually, one will give, because no one can keep us such an exhausting battle up forever._

_There's no such thing as a happy ending, 'darling', only a story cut off before something bad happens again._

_So, you've paid for the chance you two now have with the torment of our war-torn nation and thousands of lives...but what now?_

_Is it worth it?_

_You've no doubt heard it said that your story is a tragedy, and like all fates, you have yet to outrun that judgement either._

_You see, we get bored. Tom gets bored. He and I are children of war, violent, bloodthirsty, never stopping or slowing with a_

_subtle hatred of peace because we've never known it, it's alien._

_You don't know peace either._

_Yet, that is what you're both working for, and want you want. The more you work out all of your issues, the more you compromise and smoothen out...the less interest you hold for each other, and certainly, the less fun he finds you._

_You bond over fighting, but, as the time goes on, you will have less to fight about if you continue to work through your problems. And so, you become dull, uninteresting, and you no longer fit._

_He is...healing towards you, but you only hold common ground when you are both as damaged as each other. One day, you are the type who will move on and push on with life; you want normalcy, a family._

_Do you honestly believe he has any interest in either of those?_

_Maybe not now, but, eventually, it will divide you because despite compromises, you want different things out of life and possess different ideologies._

_And he won't forgive you for it._

_The basic fact of your messed up relationship is that you want him, and the things he can offer you, and he needs you but doesn't want you in the slightest._

_Walking away has always been more of an option for you than it has been for him, you have other people you can rely on, and could eventually continue if he was no longer in your life._

_He, however, would become me, and therefore not quite himself, if you weren't there._

_The balance is unequal, and will thus start to act like poison._

_So, conclusions, Harry? What do we have left?_

_Two people destined to fall into ruin and separation, a Fate not escaped just re-worked and so much death and sacrifice for it to have happened in the first place - all on you._

_Was it worth it?_

_Enjoy yourself while it lasts, soldier._

_LV._

_TMR._

* * *

It was an interesting vault, and even more intriguing in a terrible sort of way for the snippets of life he could have.

A Lestrange family ring lying on top a Defense Thesis...OWL and NEWT examination papers and certificates with top grades in every subject he'd taken...money...trinkets from various travels around the world...lots or rare books on obscure topics that he would have done anything to take with him...his old school equipment...everything for a life he could have once had, and not

much of anything at all...

He turned back to Harry, feeling a muffled yet oddly sharp and obviously unintentional shard and splinter of emotion through their connection, though it was gone too fast for him to decipher any specifics.

He returned to see what the other had found; Harry was still at the front of the vault, a piece of paper and a worn leather notebook in his hand.

He frowned, moving over, reaching out a hand to look, but Harry quickly looked up, scrunching the letter up and stuffing it into his pocket.

Tom's frown deepened.

"What was that? Show me," he instructed, studying the other. Harry looked pale, eyes distantly tortured, lost almost, with a hint of uncertainty running so deep it was as he'd just given the boy another Horcrux. He raised his eyebrows in a repeat of his demand.

"It's nothing," Harry said, obviously lying, examining the pad with some hesitation.

"Yes," Tom drawled, "nothing is exactly why you look like you've seen a ghost. What did he say?"

"Oh you mean you can't guess?" Harry snapped, "I thought he was an 'intrinsic part of you'?"

Tom blinked, and Harry shook his head a moment later, mumbling an apology.  
"Sorry, I just don't like this place, or him. I'd rather just forget about the whole lot."

"By all means, if write the deeds over to me, I will ensure it never troubles you again," Tom said instantly, with a smile. Harry snorted, though a grin tugged at his lips at the comment too.

"I'm sure," he drawled, before flipping the notebook open, hands tightening around it.

Tom reached out for it, anticipating Harry moving it away and snatching it, only for his head to tilt.

It was a journal, or a compilation of some sort. His brow furrowed as he started to read the first page, dodging Harry's attempt to grab the book back.

"Mine," he said, simply. "You have your piece of paper, I'll keep this. You are not bloody well reading my journal."

"It was left to me for a reason," Harry argued, eyes tight.

"Yes, by Voldemort, so forgive me if I don't see fit to indulge his reasons considering your current state of being."

"I'm fine!"

"Yes, sure you are sweetheart," Tom replied sarcastically. "You look stunning. Not at all like you've just been hit by a truck and are about to be sick, or like someone's throttled that owl of yours."

Harry scowled.

"Tom, seriously, give it here."

"No," he replied, flatly, pocketing the book instead for further perusal later. He'd caught a glimpse of the contents, and there was no way that he was sharing. "Now come on, there are some wonderful books you need to take out of here for me..."

What was Voldemort even playing at?

And exactly how foolproof was a memory charm really? The remembrall had been opened and broken, and fixed and sealed so many times it was cracked.

How many bursts or remembrance had the Dark Lord had before Halloween 1980? And what did he do in his periods of full

knowledge and lucidity?

Tom had a feeling or growing forbidding, and he didn't like it.

It was going to be an interesting year.

* * *

_ A/N: Hmm, I don't like this chapter particularly, I feel blocked. But, alas, I will survive and work through it! :D Besides, I know perfectly well that I am ridiculously self-critical, and nothing that I write is ever quite as good as I envisioned it to be in my head. Anyway. Thanks for all the reviews, SiS should be updated next...or Dearest Darkness if I can finally get round to it..._

_Blood Lines is still coming, just going through a final proof read by my editors..._


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